One boat-owner who immediately caught my interest was Captain P. After a few interesting emails followed by a couple of phone calls, a RDV is set up in Auckland to sail to Waiheke Island for a night. He’s a 50-something, fit, yank musician who has been living the dream in New Zealand for a few years. He spends a bit of time sailing up to the pacific islands, surfing and dropping supplies off to remote villages between selling luxury yachts to super rich clients. Sounds good.
After a quick coffee and supermarket shop, we load up his 42-foot yacht and set sail.
Unfortunately there is not much wind as we make it across the Hauraki Gulf at around six knots, but the boat feels safe and sturdy and the captain gives me clear, precise instructions which bodes well for a rookie planning to venture into the big blue with very limited previous sailing experience. We anchor off the Island late afternoon, I promptly dive off to explore the coast with a snorkel before coming back to prepare my famous risotto for dinner. (Hugely successful, salmon fillet on top, large glass of Pinot Blanc on the side.) We digest over interesting yarns late into the evening under clear, starry skies. Before retiring to my berth, the Captain offers a rather long, slightly lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek to which I, slightly surprised, say:
-Ok, well, thanks for a great day, goodnight, sleep well.
and disappear into my cabin, shutting the door. I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lapping of the waves; slipping into the gentle arms of Morpheus who delivered me to some of the raunchiest corners of my dream-state. Yikes.
In a state of heightened excitement I wake early the next morning and have to dive several times into the refreshing water in order to calm down. I cannot even make eye contact with the captain for fear he gets a glimpse of places my dreams took me to last night. I offer him a coffee and dive straight back into the water.
He proposes a tutu on the little security dinghy; off we head around the little bays looking at the houses and boats of the rich and famous on the way, as I am regretting with each bump and bounce of waves not having put a sports bra on. At least it takes my mind off more dodgy things. After a stroll along a be-shelled white sand beach where the pohutukawas hang precariously above, gripping the cliffs like long spindly-legged spiders, it’s time to haul anchor and head back to the city.
The wind by this time has died right off; we crank the engine up and gently motor all the way back to Whangaparoa Harbour. I try and keep my thoughts to myself, to retain my dignity and not give in to the lustful yearning that I have to jump on the silver fox and have my wicked way with him. Upon pondering this I come to the conclusion that although he probably wouldn’t say no, I was not that kind of girl.
Which I again pondered in the following weeks when after dropping me back into the city, when other than a passing comment that he was pleased with the way I worked and helped on the boat; the captain never got in touch with me again.
Which Gets Me Thinking:
Was he really planning on going sailing when his itinerary on his profile said?
Was he expecting me to jump on him? Is that why he never got back in touch?
Oh My Goodness,
Is he just using this website to meet girls?